


Let Us Paralyse This Moment

by orphan_account



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: (again sort of), (sort of), Friends to Lovers, I seriously have no tags for this, M/M, Making Out, Teasing, it's just some good old-fashioned making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jamie does his best to teach Ben how to play pool, but it turns out Ben's talents are reserved for more important things.





	Let Us Paralyse This Moment

“You are out of your mind if you think Tottenham are going to beat Man U tonight, Baz.”

“You’re kidding, right? I guess you missed the way they absolutely _dominated_ last week.”

“Against _Bournemouth_ , Baz!” Mike throws his hands up, nearly upending his chicken schnitzel over the table. “It’s not as though they’re in the same league as Manchester United.”

“Except that they literally _are_ in the same league,” Barry replies snootily, grinning smugly when Mike rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, Tottenham are on form. I reckon there’s gonna be an upset tonight.”

Mike snorts. “Yeah, that’ll be _you_ upset, because as usual, Manchester will come out on top.”

Jamie catches Ben’s gaze across the table and rolls his eyes dramatically. Ben giggles into his pint, admiring Jamie’s humoured expression for a second longer before taking a sip. Mike and Barry carry on arguing about the game that they and James are about to head off to, Barry continuing to insist that Tottenham are in with a chance and Mike telling him he’s dreaming. James is making steady progress on his chicken-and-leek pie instead of joining in, but Ben can tell he agrees with Mike by the way he keeps grinning into his food. He feels kind of bad about how much Barry’s going to get ganged-up on tonight: between Mike’s relentless arguing and James’ quiet, sardonic judgement, Barry’s in for a right bollocking of a night.

Not for the first time, Ben’s relieved he’d declined a ticket to the match. It’s bad enough having to listen to them yammer on over dinner, but having to deal with that plus roughly fifty thousand others sounds like Ben’s worst nightmare. He’s glad Jamie’s not going either, because it means Ben isn’t the party pooper. Also, it means they get to hang out, and Ben would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t doing a few backflips at that.

The others rush off after paying for dinner, Barry in his white Tottenham jersey being sandwiched between Mike and James’ red (Mike in a Man U jersey, James in the red shirt Mike insisted he wear in solidarity). Ben and Jamie order another pint each – which Alex, the bartender and their good friend, refuses to let them pay for – and they head for the pool table despite Ben’s insistence that he’s not very good. The pub’s so local it doesn’t even have a paying pool table, just a regular one where you can grab balls out of the pockets as you like, so Jamie sets up the rack and breaks. He’s not brilliant but he’s pretty decent, and against someone like Ben he looks like he could play for England.

“You’re dreadful at pool, you know that?”

Ben just nods, trying to look like he’s lining up while really, he has no idea what he’s doing. He takes the shot, somehow managing to hit the eight ball perfectly and knock it straight into the pocket. He straightens up, stares.

“Was that what you meant to do?” Jamie asks, not quite laughing but clearly close.

“Not, uh…not exactly,” Ben murmurs, shocked – such a beautiful shot, and it just lost him the game. Jamie chuckles beside him, not an ounce of cruelty in it, and Ben finds himself laughing, too. Jamie starts resetting the table, reorganising the rack in what looks to Ben like a totally arbitrary fashion, but eventually Jamie seems satisfied and takes the triangle away.

“You want to break?” he asks, shrugging when Ben shakes his head emphatically. He lines up his shot and cracks it perfectly, sending balls scattering every which-way. He pockets two balls, both dots, but he shakes his head when Ben suggests he take his free shot.

“I’m not bothered about winning, I just think it’s time you learned to play properly.” Again, there’s no cruelty to his tone, and this is what Ben’s always loved about Jamie; despite all the ribbing he engages in, there isn’t a single mean bone in the man’s body, and whenever they’re alone like this he’s nothing but kind. Not that he isn’t kind when the others are around, but he’s funnier about it. When it’s just the two of them, though, there’s no embarrassment, no sense that he needs to sprinkle in some humour to mitigate anything, he’s just…kind.

It’s no wonder Ben’s desperately in love with him.

“A lesser man than myself would be offended by that,” Ben quips back, eyeing up his options and positioning himself for the easiest shot. Jamie smiles as he shifts his weight, but instead of backing up to give Ben space he leans in close. Ben breathes in deeply at Jamie’s heat by his side, trying to focus, but it’s hard when his shot was destined to fail in the first place. He somehow manages to jump the white ball over the stripe he’s aiming for and sink it straight in the corner pocket – an incredibly bad shot, even for him. Jamie just gets the white ball out, plonks it back on the table, and instructs Ben to take the shot again.

Ben looks around, aware that they’re hogging the only pool table in the pub, but there aren’t many patrons left now that the football match has started, and those that remain seem glued to their seats at the bar, not bothering about getting their turn. He lines up the shot again and jumps a little when he feels Jamie’s hand between his shoulder blades, warm and wide, pushing him down ever so slightly. 

“Get your eye in line with the ball,” he says, keeping his hand there even when Ben obeys. Ben starts to tee up the shot but Jamie makes a noise to stop him, leaning in closer still to fix Ben’s cradling hand. It’s all Ben can do to keep his breathing even as Jamie’s hand fiddles with his fingers, resting the cue between his index and ring fingers so it runs along the back of his hand. Ben feels his hands dampen with sweat and has to resist the urge to wipe them off on his jeans.

“Try that,” he says, voice close to Ben’s ear, and Ben can’t help the little shudder that rips through him. He tries to turn it into a nod, but he’s pretty sure Jamie knows what’s up when he twats the shot up completely, the white ball somehow coming off the side of the cue and hitting the edge uselessly. He sighs and hangs his head between his shoulders, barely managing not to sigh happily when Jamie’s hand on his back starts rubbing gently.

“You seem distracted,” Jamie mutters; Ben’s glad his face is hidden, because he can feel it flush.

“I’m drunk is what I am,” he replies, aware that it’s not entirely true but it may as well be. Having Jamie’s full attention has always been heady for Ben, and this added physicality is making his brain fog pleasantly. As if hearing Ben’s thoughts, Jamie leans in closer, reaching over Ben’s body to pull the white ball out of the pocket again.

“I don’t mean to annoy you, mate.” The fact that Jamie keeps leaning in closer and closer to Ben’s body makes him seriously doubt that. “If I am, tell me to knock it off.”

“You’re not annoying me,” Ben insists, straightening up but deliberately not looking at Jamie. “If anything, you’re making me nervous.”

He misses the look on Jamie’s face because he’s resolutely staring at the fruit machine in he corner, but he hears it perfectly when the man makes a curious little hum. Jamie spins so he’s half-sitting on the pool table, and when Ben finally looks at him he sees Jamie’s eyes already boring into him.

“Nervous?” he asks. Ben’s heart is pounding; he’ll forever blame it on the three pints he’s put away that he nods. “Why am I making you nervous?”

Ben licks his lips before he responds, noticing how Jamie’s eyes flick down to watch the motion. Taking heart from that, he decides to be bold.

“You always make me nervous, Jay.”

He hasn’t answered the question at all but apparently Jamie understands, because his mouth hangs open a little. It’s rare that Ben feels like he has the upper hand so he takes advantage, biting his lip and swaying into Jamie’s space. He grins when Jamie stays right where he is, letting his eyes flick down to his lips then back up, and Ben’s about to close the last millimetre of distance when Alex yells, “Get a room, you two,” from behind the bar. He winks to show he’s just giving them a hard time, but Jamie takes the chance to whisper, “Yours or mine?” in Ben’s ear. Ben isn’t entirely sure what his answer was until they’re in the taxi and Jamie is giving the driver his own address.

The ride to Jamie’s is mercifully short, and Jamie practically throws his money at their driver when Ben grabs his hand and climbs onto the street. They rush up the steps giggling like teenagers, Jamie fumbling with his keys as Ben presses up against his back in payback for Jamie’s behaviour in the pub. When Jamie gets the door open they stumble a little and Ben barely manages to hold them both up, hanging on just long enough for Jamie to shut the door again and press him up against it.

The kiss starts off lazily, barely more than a gentle meeting of lips. Ben savours the softness of Jamie’s mouth as contrast to the hard door at his back, breathing in the smell of beer and grease that clings to his usual scent of fabric softener and warm wood. Jamie’s hands rest on his waist, a grounding touch more than anything, much the same as Ben’s hands on Jamie’s shoulders. It’s tentative and exploratory, both men silently asking permission while leaning on the back foot, fully expecting to be told ‘no.’

After a long minute during which neither moves away, Jamie sucks in a deep breath through his nose, one hand tugging on Ben’s hip almost accidentally. Ben goes with it easily, tightening his arms around Jamie’s neck to pull him in close and using the door behind him to roll his body from the shoulders down. Jamie moans into his mouth, his hand tightening on Ben’s hip so it’s just the right side of painful. He rubs a thumb over the bone of Ben’s hip, and ordinarily Ben would be self-conscious about his soft stomach but this is _Jamie -_ Jamie who has never once made Ben feel ugly, has never implied Ben should lose weight or go to the gym or lay off the desserts - so when Jamie’s thumb digs in tighter Ben leans into it happily.

“Fuck,” Jamie whispers into Ben’s mouth, seemingly unable to pull away even to breathe. “You may be shit at pool, but you certainly make up for it in other areas, don’t you?”

Ben grins and nips at Jamie’s lip, relishing the punched-out sigh he gets in response.

“Want me to show you just how good I am in _other areas_?”

Even _he’s_ surprised by the pure silk in his voice, but it’s worth the embarrassment of the porn star-esque line for the way Jamie nearly breaks his own neck with how hard he nods.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a tumblr post I saw (and have subsequently lost) which said something along the lines of, 'when lazy kissing gets intense with a deep breath and hip pull,' and I just had to write this. I'm also trying to mix up my pairings and I feel like Jamie gets left out of fics a lot, at least in a romantic sense, so here we go. 
> 
> Also for someone who knows next to nothing about the English Premier League, I seem to include it a lot in fics. Apologies to Barry, Mike, and James if I committed sacrilege by making them support the teams I did, I'm just fumbling my way through.
> 
> For anyone who wants to read an actually good Ben/Jamie fic, [dovingbird's fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10150310) is an actual masterpiece.
> 
> Title is from Green Day's "Cigarettes and Valentines"


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